Icarus brushed his fingers against his temple as if he could massage the headache building in him away. When he spoke, it was with the defeat he had carried inside him for half his life. “So how can you stand there and tell me it didn’t destroy him? He started a war because he believed the witches and humans were hiding the grimoire and the omnis stone. Countless died for his convictions. The man who raised me never would have sacrificed so many on a theory. He was a wise and good headmaster, but something broke in him while he tried to fulfill our family’s destiny. It isn’t a legacy. It's a curse, and now my brother is in the throes of its power. I will not stand by and watch him succumb to it.”
Even as he said the words, the part of him he tried to keep hidden, the Darkmore in him, whispered that this time was different. Calder had found the grimoire and seemed confident the omnis stone was in Calami. They were closer than any other heirs before them. Icarus shook his head, ending the traitorous thoughts. He would see Calder far from this place and bury the grimoire where no one else would find it. The lure of power, even in the name of unity, was too dangerous.
“You are wrong, boy.” The way Cyrus said the words was like a cat playing with a mouse, sending shivers down Icarus’ spine. The middle-aged wizard pulled out a dusty leather-bound manuscript from his desk and set it down on the oak, causing an array of dust to settle in the air. Opening to a marked page, Cyrus watched Icarus carefully, even as he turned the book to face him. “Look for yourself.”
The words were old. Perhaps even from the time of Atlas Darkmore, and yet the words felt twisted and wrong. The historian in him longed to spend hours combing through these pages. As Icarus scanned the page, he felt his entire body go numb.
“A mind spell,” he whispered as reason tried to pry its way free in his mind. “Cyrus, this is ridiculous. That kind of dark magic hasn’t been used in five hundred years since Atlas had access to the grimoire. You can’t possibly be suggesting—”
“I am, and I can see from the look on your face you see its possibility as well. You said it yourself just moments ago. Somethingchangedin Elias. When you went to Sinclair and the witches and told them where your father would be and what his plans were, you killed him when we could have saved him.”
Icarus shook his head. “No. What you are saying doesn’t make sense. Who could have had the grimoire to learn such magic? Father was sure the humans had it and they are incapable of using it. The royal family cooperated in all father’s requests to search New Hayden royal archives before he pushed them into war.”
“You and I both know that the man who started the Trinity War was not your father, Icarus. The how and why of it I can’t say just yet. I have spent the last ten years of my life trying to find these answers, and I believe this book holds the answers.”
Questions, hypotheses, and guilt berated his mind like a violent ocean against the might of ageless rocks. If what his uncle was suggesting was true, then he had handed over an innocent man. His father would have been a victim and died knowing his son had abandoned him to his fate. That was what was repeating in his mind because if what Cyrus was saying was true, then his father had still been aware and in control in some moments. He remembered the way his father had fallen to the ground and wept at his mother’s feet as she stared on as if there was nothing happening around her. Seeing and yet unseeing. Perhaps worse was that Cyrus had said his father asked that Cyrus protect him and continue his education and place in Mistral Hall. He had to have known the wizards would never accept him after what he’d done, no matter what the war had cost them, and yet still he begged for his son.
“This is too much, Cyrus.” Icarus stumbled from the desk.
“I can only imagine the burden of knowing you killed your father, an innocent man. As if it wasn’t bad enough to begin with, but now I wonder how you will live with yourself.”
“Stop,” Icarus pleaded. Eiridis fanned his wings and let forward a shriek that clawed through Icarus’ throbbing head.
Cyrus was never one to see weakness and show mercy. He stepped from behind the desk and walked slowly toward where Icarus stood. “Do you think about how he must have felt as his magic was slowly burned away until his life force gave way? Do you know he asked after you even as he fell to the ground unable to stand? Do you ever wonder what it was like to be charged with killing your own brother as a witch stood and witnessed?”
Icarus swallowed back bile.
“So don’t come to my school and ask about your brother and pretend that you care when it was you who left him fatherless, and you who made me kill my own brother. Had the witches done it themselves, it would have been crueler, but don’t think I don't see that night in my mind every time I close my eyes. You are a coward and a stain on our family’s name.”
Each word felt like a knife to the shield he had carefully crafted for ten years. Each one was reminiscent of the hatred he had tolerated from his uncle for six years before he took up Sinclair’s offer for a job at Calami. It was as if none of the last four years spent freeing himself and building a new life had ever happened. The doors to the study blew open and the magic that had warded against prying ears evaporated.
“Leave Mistral Hall and do not darken our doors again, IcarusAtwood.” Cyrus sneered as he pushed forth a blast of air that Icarus should have easily been able to defend against. In his current state, the smallest spell would prove effective, and Cyrus knew it for what it was.
The push of air flowed into him, pushing his body out of the room. Eiridis flew from where he was perched and before landing on Icarus’ shoulder, landed a nip on his uncle's finger, which led to a string of curses. As soon as he was clear of the doors, they slammed shut effectively ending his meeting with his uncle.
Free from the room and his uncle’s influence, the headache he had been nursing seemed to dull to a distant roar rather than an all-consuming one. Eiridis nudged at Icarus and he nodded in understanding.
“I’m all right, Eiridis, no need to fuss.” Even he didn’t believe himself.
“A happy family reunion, then.”
Icarus gave an internal sigh that would have shaken the very ground beneath their feet if it were allowed to escape. He turned and there, standing with one leg propped against the stonework and his arms crossed, was Calder smirking as if he knew every embarrassing moment of Icarus’ life.
“As much as could be expected,” Icarus answered dryly.
“And yet still you came? I confess I’m curious to know what dragged you back into these hallowed halls.”
“You,” Icarus said, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at his eyes.
“Moi?” Calder said, pointing a finger at himself. “I’m touched, brother.”
“Stop being–” He couldn’t find the words and simply gestured to all of Calder.
“Impossible. I’m told I am a delight, and I would not deny the world a moment of it.”
Icarus groaned. “You are insufferable. Cal–” he began, but thought better of it. Reaching for his augere that always remained a comforting presence, he weaved his owneavesspell around the two of them.
“Oh, so it’s that sort of rendezvous.” Calder smirked, but there was an undercurrent of exhaustion to him.
